


Hymn from a Village

by CloudAtlas



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They passed a sign in front of the small church informing them that they were entering Slaidburn, and it became very apparent that this was one of those small British villages that, in your old age, you would talk fondly of growing up in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hymn from a Village

**Author's Note:**

> I was never going to try writing about my uni town of London, because that’s boring. So I tried York, where I live now, but that totally didn’t work for me. So you’re getting the tiny village of Slaidburn in Lancashire where I grew up. Everything written here about it is true, down to Isobel at the pub. Oh and if you want to see it, type BB7 3ER into Google Maps. Yes, it really is that small. 
> 
> Thanks to [shenshen77](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shenshen77/pseuds/shenshen77) for betaing.
> 
> The title comes from a song by James.

The news came through just as they were finishing up a mission in Jakarta; downtime. You’ve got two weeks.

They’d been doing almost back to back missions for seven months and Clint felt the tiredness in his bones. He didn’t think he’d ever needed downtime as much as he needed it now. So after debrief at the SHIELD base in Shanghai, he sought out Natasha, tired and already packed; ready to go where she suggested.

“So, where to?” he said, leaning up against the doorframe of her temporary rooms.

She looked up at him, tired and just as ready for a break as he was. “The UK,” she said.

_

The UK was a strange one, all things considered. It was crowded – it’s not like you could get properly lost there. On the other hand, neither of them had ever been sent there, either by SHIELD or by any of their… previous employers. Natasha liked the tea, Clint liked the people’s ability to completely leave you alone unless you made an effort to get involved. They both liked BBC nature documentaries. All in all, it was a great place to wind down after months of tiring but injury free missions.

They flew to Dubai and then into Manchester International, which was unusual. Normally they landed in London. But to be honest, neither of them cared where they ended up, and the north was just as good as the south to them. Clint rented a car, and Natasha said “Drive north”. So that’s what they did.

They’d landed in the afternoon, but neither of them had the will or patience to deal with lots of people, so Natasha would call turn offs and Clint would follow them; an endless stream of “left, right, left, second exit, right, right, turn off here” that left them as disorientated as it was possible to get in a country the size of Oregon.

Taking scenic routes and country lanes, they ended up in a tiny village just as the sun was setting.

The road in was ridiculous. A one lane thing with overtaking points which were barely big enough to protect them from the tractor coming the other way. They passed a sign in front of the small church informing them that they were entering Slaidburn, and it became very apparent that this was one of those small British villages that, in your old age, you would talk fondly of growing up in.

It also became apparent that, at the most, there were only about 250 people living there, and the pub looked ridiculously inviting after almost eighteen hours of continuous travel. One glance at Natasha confirmed that this was as far as they were going tonight.

After a bit of a struggle, they managed to locate the pub’s car park and walked in to find that this pub – the Hark to Bounty – was, to Clint’s absolute delight, a _proper English pub_ with an open fire, farm workers and odd beers on tap. However, they drew stares immediately – this was clearly also the kind of place where everybody knew everybody, and their family history as well, probably – a beat of silence following their entrance, until a short, squat woman asked them in a brisk voice if she could be of any assistance.

“Do you happen to rent rooms for the night?” Natasha asked, drawing renewed stares because they apparently didn’t build women like Natasha in Slaidburn, and she was _American_ to boot.

“You’re in luck, we got a free room just this afternoon,” the woman replied, leading them up a narrow staircase and showing them a small room which looked so much like a stereotypical British bed and breakfast that Clint thought he’d walked into a TV show. There were floral prints and a small double bed that creaked and a bathroom with leaking brass taps.

Natasha’s eyes met his and he could see she was thinking exactly the same as him – this was it. Somewhere where the people were friendly but left you alone if you wanted it. Isolated and unexpected and nowhere SHIELD would bother them. And with a ridiculously comfy looking bed.

“OK, we’ll take it. Thanks.”

“Well, great. I’m Isobel and if you come down to the bar we can deal with payment and suchlike. The kitchen is still open if you want food and we can get you keys sorted and you can fetch your stuff.”

_

The bed was ridiculously comfy – and so small they had to sleep wrapped around each other, though that was nothing new. They were woken up by a dog barking in the street, and people greeting each other across the road. Isobel gave them a full English breakfast at the bar downstairs.

And the sun was shining.

_

In daylight, Slaidburn was every bit as typically British-village as it had looked at fading light of 10pm on a summers evening. A thorough exploration – which took all of fifteen minutes – revealed a church, a small school, a heritage centre, a small NHS heath centre, a shop, the pub, a café and a village hall.

Through questioning Isobel at the pub, they found that the nearest place to get any kind of decent shopping done was the nearby town of Clitheroe; nine miles away and over some pretty decent fells. They also found that from Slaidburn, it was pretty easy to get to the North York Moors, the Lake District and the Forest of Bowland for walking, provided they “didn’t mind a bit of a drive” (They didn’t. They were American, for fuck’s sake).

They spent the day walking through farmers’ fields, always close enough to civilisation to be able to see disused barns, but far enough away not to hear traffic or meet anyone. Clint had his collapsible bow with him from his last mission (And wasn’t he glad that it was compact, packable, and not picked up by metal detectors at airports? Natasha sniped. But she was just jealous that basically all she had with her were two ceramic knives and a dress worthy of the Oscars. She’d already started stealing his t-shirts) and spent time leisurely putting arrows into dying sycamore trees. Natasha studied maps lent to her by Isobel, working out walks and looking forward to all that space.

_

That afternoon found them by the river, sitting on what was referred to as The Green, Clint throwing bits of ice cream cone to the ducks with his feet in the river, and Natasha laying back, her hand over her eyes.

“Let’s stay here. For the whole two weeks. Let’s just stay.”

“Well pay through the nose for the car,” Natasha replied, her hair making a halo of red in the green grass.

“I don’t care,” Clint replied.

Natasha removed her hand from her eyes and squinting up at him, she smiled. “Good,” she said.


End file.
